TheBaine Hour glides, as I sit gazing outside, through the night street window of this dimly lit city bar tonight. I watch ghosts and shadows of the passers-by, to bide my gratified pavine of Time. As I sit about this dimly lit city bar about the night.

Daylights faded, the noise grew somber, as the White Horse hour neared by. As she walked in, thin and fair skinned, her body etched with glorious purples of her time.

Sitting about the bar, her drink poured violet, frothy, white, while morphing with our space and time. The Grand hour rises, as I gather to my feet, to save this mistress of my kind.

We laugh and watch, the ticking clock glide, the sound subdued as a sweeping hand would slide, with each turn it did click, but not for our kind; on this, our night - We raise and drink, to an oh so wonderful TheBaine time.